A Way To Die
by Wasting The Day
Summary: Mentions sex. A Young X-Men has had enough of life, and decides to do something about it.


Sound came from the closed off room, vibrating the bodies of those  
who wandered by. No one questioned why the sound was so loud, and  
no one really cared. Which is exactly why the young man had his  
stereo so loud- the attempt to block out the world. It seemed with  
times passing he was less called on for friendly things, such as  
the simple "hanging out". He was bitter, now, being fully  
transformed to ice. But none of his teammates seemed to care. They  
were lost mourning over the death of Jean, rebuilding the school,  
fighting over teams, or just not around anymore. He'd been left on  
the backburner of a 12-burner stove, and someone forgot to add him  
to the dinner meal. Just left there, sitting cold, growing older.  
  
That's what Robert Drake –Bobby, Iceman- felt like. A leftover  
from a meal long ago. The original X-Men were still around, but it  
seemed as if they'd forgotten him, again. In fact, they did. His  
birthday was last week, and everyone forgot. Except his lover-  
currently stuck on a mission somewhere else- , who had called and  
wished him a happy birthday. It wasn't a happy birthday, but the  
effort was kind.  
  
He'd turned up the sound to drown out the world, but he wasn't  
even listening to the music played. He hadn't listened to that  
band in years, and covered it up with a pair of headphones playing  
what he really liked now. Bobby was afraid of people hearing his  
newest sound affection. Afraid they might make fun of him. It  
wasn't an embarrassing band, no, nothing like that, but it would  
spark questions. So instead, he lay eagle spread on his bed,  
headphones deafening his senses to the outside world. Pure ice,  
inside and outside, literally and figuratively. Since becoming a  
walking otter pop, as Canadian teammate Jean-Paul put it, he felt  
no happiness, no anger, just a growing coldness as it crept up  
from his toes, to his heart, and his mind. He was dying.  
  
Bobby lay naked to the world on his bed that day. Earlier, he'd  
scratched a shinny "I Love You Kurt", into his stomach. Kurt was  
away, and by the time he'd come back, Bobby would no longer be  
there, but his message would be. Or so he hoped, if he hadn't  
melted into a puddle by then. He and Kurt had had many fun, wild  
romps together in the past. Bobby remembered all the times they'd  
snuck into a broom closet and made out, or had sex in the back of  
the Blackbird when no one was paying attention. Oh god, the sex.  
He and Kurt, so many positions, so many times. Days they'd spend,  
locked in a room, screwing until their asses were black and blue,  
giving blow jobs until their teeth marks became permanent  
indentations on each others cocks. Nothing was sacred in those  
rooms, guts were spilt, blood shared, pain became last in line,  
after bliss and love. Yes, love, Bobby had loved Kurt so much,  
from the day they met until today. Because today Bobby was dying-  
he'd decided a while ago. His sarcastic nature was gone; nothing  
existed besides his new "bad-ass" attitude, and a decline in his  
love and passion for Kurt. Kurt had forgiven him for telling him  
he wasn't an original "X-Man", but things had been bad since then.  
He'd been angry with Warren not long after, for sharing Danger  
Room secrets with Cain, and then with Scott for not letting his  
switch teams. After China, he'd had enough. No one was taking him  
seriously anymore; Kurt even seemed to blow off his down crested  
attitude, his traurigkeit, as something that would pass in time,  
once he accepted his new mutation. Yeah, right, accept something  
that he felt was ruining his life? Not letting him feel the warmth  
of his lover, of a human touch? Never.  
  
So that's where we find Bobby now. In the crossroads of life and  
death. His headphones on, naked for the world to find him, on his  
bed. A gun, stolen from somewhere- he couldn't remember or care-  
lay on the floor. He wasn't going to use it, but it was there.  
Instead, he held a broken end of one of Kurt's foils in his hand.  
Ice couldn't bleed, but he could try. After all, he was human,  
once.  
  
Kurt came home from a mission two days later. He'd called, and  
called, but no one seemed to know where Bobby was. No one would  
check his room, either. Worried, he didn't bother to unpack.  
Instead, teleported outside Bobby's door, worried crossed his  
handsome blue face. He knew, deep down, that on the other side of  
this door, nothing living existed anymore, but he refused to  
accept that. Opening Bobby's door (he'd left it unlocked, in case  
anyone felt like trying to stop him), he saw what became of Bobby.  
  
Iceman, Bobby Drake, had made his final pass back as human, but  
didn't live to enjoy it. Blood, now dried to a dark red, stained  
the sheets around the body, dripped onto the floor, making a large  
puddle. Ants had crawled in through some unseen crack, and carted  
out the particles. His eyes were open, his mouth closed. If at  
anytime he'd looked more at peace, Kurt didn't know. He'd sliced  
his wrists open, upwards, not side-to-side, the right way. After  
that, he'd managed to cut his throat open. But the message he'd  
left remained in tact, across his belly, just as he'd carved it in  
ice, "I Love You Kurt." Once, long ago, they'd promised to love  
each other until death. Bobby kept his promise, and for that Kurt  
loved him back, and would love his now deceased partner, until his  
death as well.  
  
The End. 


End file.
